


For an Evanescent Eternity

by yumekuimono



Category: Hamlet - Shakespeare
Genre: Drunk Sex, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Pre-Canon, WITTENBERG FIC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-15 02:08:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9214322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yumekuimono/pseuds/yumekuimono
Summary: Horatio met the prince of Denmark in their first year of study at Wittenberg.





	

**Author's Note:**

> cleaning out my WIPs. wow, this has been sitting on my computer for almost a year. and yes, I realize this makes me a huge nerd.
> 
> In my head, Horatio is always Peter de Jersey from the 2009 BBC version of Hamlet, although Hamlet himself is closer to Kenneth Branagh (though maybe without the facial hair) than David Tennant.

Horatio met the prince of Denmark in their first year of study at Wittenberg. He was sat in lecture, enduring the droning of an aged professor on the rudiments of philosophical theory, when without any change of inflection or interruption of flow the man remarked upon the increasing influence of solipsistic ontology despite its feeble epistemological support, “though it be only my own opinion.” Horatio snorted a laugh, as did a fine, fair-haired youth across the hall.

“I see I have two students who are prepared.” The professor raised a bushy eyebrow. “The rest of you would do well to read what I have assigned, or else you shall be left behind.”

As he was leaving the hall, having been dismissed for the day, Horatio felt a hand upon his shoulder.

“It seems we are to be made martyrs of in that class.”

Horatio turned to find the youth beside him, the suggestion of a smile playing around the corners of his mouth. He was truly very handsome.

“Yes, though I must confess I laughed for the most part of surprise. I did not think Master Breitbarth capable of humor, even such as ill-formed as that.” He extended a hand. “Horatio.”

“Hamlet, prince of Denmark.” He clasped the proffered hand as Horatio’s eyes widened and he tripped over his own tongue.

“Oh, I…it—is a pleasure to meet you…um—”

There was laughter underneath the prince’s voice as he said, “My lord is the common form of address.”

“Oh. Thank you. My lord.” Horatio took his hand back, suddenly unsure as to how to conduct himself.

This time the laughter did break out when Hamlet cried, “Oh but come, I am here to escape my princely duties for a while, and you seem a most intriguing fellow. Tell me, how came you to Wittenberg if princes be not your normal consorts?” He didn’t say, _if your skin be so dusky_ , and for that Horatio was glad.

“I would have thought you were here to advance your princely duties. My lord.”

Hamlet shrugged. “They are much the same thing. But you have not answered my own question.” He steered them past the entrance to the library, guiding Horatio instead to a bench beneath an oak clad already in the red and orange of the season.

“How I came here? My mother was the daughter of a merchant, and married into a much-attenuated house with more prestige than wealth. Her husband was not my father, yet as she died giving me birth and the lord is old and of failing health, there was little choice but to act otherwise, though all knew the truth. I think they hope that by providing me with a proper education my presence shall become less scandalous and more acceptable. Fortunately for them I enjoy my studies. Perhaps unfortunately I am too much an academic and too little a leader.”

“Then perhaps we shall each learn something from the other.”

The conversation turned other ways, meandering as the laziest of streams, and Horatio was surprised at its easiness. He had thought to be isolated by skin and birth, but Hamlet did not seem to mind either. They were surprised by the bell tolling the next hour, and Horatio started up.

“I must to another lecture. I hope my lord will pardon me.”

Hamlet stood. “I should as well, though I have no doubt Rosencrantz or Guildenstern would be happy to relate the major points to me should I not go. ’Tis just as well, for it may be better to play the truant later in the year. Do come talk with me again.”

“I will, my lord.”

They became partners in study, and good friends. Horatio met Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, though the two were merely cordial to him when in Hamlet’s presence and ignored him when not. The times when he was not in Hamlet’s company were growing fewer, however, and one day he inquired as to the reasons.

They were sitting underneath the oak again, and Hamlet tipped back his head to regard the swaying, half-bare branches. “Of all those I know, Horatio, thou art the most honest. ’Tis oft said the walls in Elsinore have eyes and ears, and my friends would be all too eager to make themselves into masonry for the right price.” The prince looked at him, and his own eyes were the color of the sky. “I do not think thou wouldst.”

“My lord flatters me.” In truth, he was not flattered so much as he was stunned with the weight of Hamlet’s trust. He thought in that moment that he did love his prince, as perhaps he had never loved another.

“And thou dost spoil me with the luxury of a confidential ear. If I stay too long here I shall not want to return to Elsinore.”

“Now thou dost jest.”

“Perhaps.” Hamlet smiled, a rare expression made all the more scarce by how genuine it was. Horatio was not sure he should be so pleased that most of the prince’s true smiles seemed reserved for him.

Hamlet wandered through Horatio’s thoughts and his dreams, distracting him with tantalizing imaginings of what he told himself could never be. Hamlet was a prince—far above him in rank, and laden with duty. Even should his thoughts turn such ways, no good would come of entertaining them. With such reasonings did Horatio attempt to dissuade himself, yet still his eyes stole upwards from his books to the prince seated across from him, noting the line of cheekbone, the curve of lash and lip, the fall of golden hair. It did not help that more often than not when Horatio glanced, his eyes were met by Hamlet’s own, though never did he try to forswear what he himself felt.

On the day of the first frost, Horatio arrived at Hamlet’s chambers to find the prince with his head upon the table, quill and ink and bottle of amber liquid at his right elbow, several crumpled sheets of paper at his left. Horatio hurried forward, setting his books upon a chair, and laying a gentle hand upon Hamlet’s shoulder.

“My prince.”

Hamlet’s eyes were bright and his cheeks flushed with drink when he lifted his head. “Horatio. Is’t that time so soon?”

Horatio nodded, leaving his hand where it rested. “What hast thou been writing, my lord?”

A look of distaste passed over the prince’s face. “Foolishness and mockery. Such things as I do not care for, yet must.” He sighed. “Sometimes I feel as though I stand upon rotten ice, and I dare not leap too high lest I drown in black water when I come back down. ’Tis a curse on my life.”

“Temperance of spirit should greatly benefit a prince, I would think.” It was not what Hamlet had meant and Horatio knew it, but he was not sure what he was meant to say, and had no better response. He pulled his prince to his feet. “Thou art in no fit condition to study, and should instead to sleep. Didst thou forget we have an examination to-morrow?”

Hamlet swayed into him, but when he raised a hand it was not to steady himself. Instead he ran long fingers over Horatio’s cheek. “I always did love the color of thy skin.”

Horatio had to force himself to look away. “My lord knows not what he speaks. Come now.”

He put his prince to bed, then returned to tidy the room. As he flattened one piece of paper his eyes caught a phrase. _Never doubt that I love thee…_ Horatio bit his lip, brows drawing together. He took his books and returned to his own room, but found that he could not study that night either. Hamlet had spoken of the lady Ophelia before, though he had never said aught of love. _Never doubt that I love thee._ Yet Hamlet had called it foolishness and mockery. Horatio did not know what it might mean. In the end he convinced himself that it did not change his feelings, nor their impossibility.

A few weeks later, they were seated at a tavern, ensconced in a back alcove. It was just the two of them since Rosencrantz and Guildenstern had to beg off. Horatio suspected Hamlet had known the two had other obligations and purposefully planned it this way, but he didn’t mind. He was happy just to spend time with the prince, and they were having a fine time talking and laughing and drinking. Horatio had lost count of how many drinks he’d had, though half his tipsiness came not from the drink but how close Hamlet was. At some point their shoulders had leaned together, and though Horatio couldn’t remember when that happened, he reveled in their closeness. Truthfully, he didn’t really notice their shoulders had touched until Hamlet pulled away, a more sober look in his eye.

“Thou art truly the dearest friend I have known, Horatio.”

A little taken aback by this declaration, yet tongue loosened with drink, he responded with the truth. “I would do anything for my lord.”

“Wouldst thou…” Hamlet hesitated, looking unsure. “Wouldst thou call me by name when we two are alone? I would be none but myself with thee.”

“Certainly, Hamlet.” The name tasted sweet and strange on his tongue.

“I am glad.” Hamlet smiled, though it barely reached his eyes, and Horatio was not entirely surprised when the prince continued, “Though in truth that was not what I meant to ask.”

Horatio waited, watching Hamlet’s face, noting the flush to his fair skin, the fullness of his lips, the strangely intense look in his blue eyes. They were still sitting close, hips and knees almost touching.

“How far wouldst thou go for me, Horatio?”

The prince’s eyes caught and pierced him, and Horatio was unable to look away as he responded. “To the ends of the earth.”

“Wouldst thou court Hell for me?”

“Hamlet, I do not understand what thou means—”

Horatio was cut off by the soft brush of lips against his, and his eyes slipped closed as breathlessly he responded in kind. He had not dared hope… Neither it seemed had his prince, and so it was a brief contact, an answer, no more. And yet, they were reluctant to part  fully, to move away, hovering near in wordless question.

“I do not think it a sin to love.” Horatio’s voice was a whisper.

He leaned forward to kiss Hamlet again, and this one was confident, and affirmation, a revelation. One hand found Hamlet’s hip, the other braced on the bench just behind as their bodies turned in towards each other. Hamlet’s hands ran warm up Horatio’s sides, his back, as his kiss echoed and turned back upon him everything that Horatio gave. It could have lasted forever, but they were not yet so drunk as to have lost all sense, and instead they spilled out into the night. A light snow was slowly drifting down, but Horatio felt only an indescribable warmth as the linked arms, only half under the pretense of keeping each other from falling.

Hamlet led them back to his rooms, modest for a prince yet grander than Horatio’s own at the college. A fire burning in the grate warmed the air, but they did not wait for it to touch its heat to the two of them. Breath mingled, and snow-chilled hands fumbled underneath clothing, trailing goose prickles and shivers of pleasure, until passion had driven the cold from their bodies. They tipped backward onto the bed, learning each other with taste and touch, glorying in this physicality. Horatio let pleasure carry him, move their bodies together, guide him through this bright new happening with the momentary blinding surety of its rightness.

They fell asleep tangled in each other, and Horatio woke up the next morning warm and content, one arm over Hamlet’s side. He opened his eyes to see the prince already awake and watching him, the sharp winter sunlight slanting through the curtains and across his face, lighting his pale hair. Horatio didn’t think he’d ever seen anything so beautiful, and the corners of his mouth curled into a smile. Then he registered the worry on his prince’s face.

“Hamlet,” (how he loved to say that name) “why dost thou frown so this morn?” Truly his prince thought overmuch, but this was early even for him.

“I fear thou shalt regret what we have done.”

“Never, sweet prince. Dost thou?”

“Truly I do not know. I feel that I should.”

“Mmm,” Horatio shifted, holding Hamlet more securely. “I am too much a scholar not to think the word of God has been passed imperfectly through the tongues of men. Though we must needs hide from them, there is no equal need for repentance.”

“Thou sayst the most audacious things.”

“Fortunately, I have not had to learn discretion through experience.”

Hamlet smiled, and it was as a cloud break on a dreary day. It was just as quickly gone as well. Hamlet sighed, casting his eyes over Horatio’s face as though he would memorize it.

“I do not know how I shall ever return to Elsinore and my duty now that I have had a taste of true desire. Ophelia…I could almost pretend, but she will never be as sweet as thee.”

“There are years yet before thou wilt be called back, and time enough to think of the future. Art not the most beautiful things those which do not last?” Horatio ran his fingers through Hamlet’s bed-tossed hair, again drinking in the sight of the man before him. “I would spend our time together as lovers whilst still we may. ’Twould be too much a pity to let it slip away, and that I would regret.”

Hamlet smiled again, and this one stayed. “As would I.”


End file.
